The Annals of Mikaihel, Dark Apostle of Chaos
by wordbearer
Summary: The Word Bearers are the most fanatical of the Chaos legions. What does it take to be a leader of these fallen fanatics? 40k story.
1. A Rain of Fallen Angels

This is the first of the Word Bearer fics that I'm posting on this site, so I'm going to provide a brief explanation of what I'm planning to do. Each of these chapters can stand on their own merits. I abhore cliff hangars and refuse to inflict them on others. They do star the same main character though... Enjoy and review if you please. I apreciate all comments. Disclaimer at the end.

A Rain of Fallen Angels   
  
The dark swarm of drop pods launched from the Word Bearer fleet like fleas from a dog. The baroque warships were lit only by the glow of their ancient engines as they swept through the shadow of Duran IV toward their targets on the other side of the planet. They left the swiftly falling drop pods behind them to skirt around the world's atmosphere before dropping into the ocean of air that enveloped the green world. The pods were diminutive in comparison to their parent vessels yet they held the deadly half of the chaos attack. They bore veteran members of that most fanatical of traitor legions, the crimson armored Word Bearers.  
On one of those twisted drop pods, Mikaihel, Dark Apostle and Daemon Prince and his personal raptor body guard were engaged in intense prayer. Faith was of utmost importance to the success of any endeavor and Word Bearers spent much time honing their faith. Mikaihel knew that the rest of his warriors were engaged in similar prayer and hoped that the gods saw fit to reward their faith with victory. He was aware that such aid would likely be needed to see his Host through the coming battles. The chanting of chaos hymnals overrode the sounds of the ancient machine around them preparing to undergo its traumatic journey into the turbulent sea of the planets' atmosphere.  
A massive clang rocked the pod sending waves of distortion through the crew compartment. One raptor was fried in his armor as an arc of power jolted through him. The Dark Apostle glanced at the indicator screen on the pod ceiling and saw that a near miss by a defense torpedo had sent the pod reeling and that their landing on Duran IV would be harsher than expected. Mikaihel gestured to his warriors to cease their prebattle rites. "The weapons of the False Emperor's minions have tried and failed to destroy us. They have succeeded in damaging the chaos blessed machine we ride in and we will be coming in steeper than expected. Prepare yourselves for combat and gather your weapons. With the guidance of the chaos gods we will be in battle before the rest of our sacred Host." The predatory raptors nodded, few taking note of their revered leader's grim tone as they anticipated the glory that was battle.  
Mikaihel suspected that the shot hadn't been aimed at the near invisible drop pod, but at one his warships that were even now smashing their way into the imperial fleet. This was academic, but the hit would be the death of his guard and banish him to the warp if the daemon infested machine spirit of the drop pod couldn't compensate for the damage. A whistling roar indicated the start of the pod's descent into the planetary atmosphere. The chamber rattled and shook as the machine was buffeted by the winds of Duran. The lights of the pod flickered on and off casting crazed shadows from the Dark Apostle's new razor edged metallic wings. He was silent as a crushing fist gripped the pod's passengers in forces even space marines would be hard pressed to ignore. Eventually the pod's passage stabilized as retrorockets engaged and reduced its fatal headlong velocity. Even so the landing set off internal alarms that blared through the cramped chamber as exit doors blew off their hinges.  
Mikaihel released his grip on the safety rungs as his robe unfurled with a fluid motion and he rose to his feet, "With me! Out of the pod and take positions for battle! Lorgar guides our path." The raptors responded in a quiet tone as they filtered out of the damaged drop pod without a backwards glance at their two dead comrades, "The Primarch guides our path." The white robed figure emerged and surveyed the spectacle spread out before his eyes. He and his guard had landed early and out of position atop a wooded bluff above the developing battle. The Dark Apostle gestured for his guard to retain position as he observed the conflict. Blood frenzied Khorne berserkers and dreadnoughts ran at the Black Templar and imperial guard force arrayed before them. The hulking forms of defilers dominated the rear of the force and rained shells on the imperialists before them. The imperials were led by black armored marines advancing towards their foes with less speed but no less determination. Sepheroth noted the presence of an inquisitor and several of those imperial daemonhosts such as had recently begun to be more and more common after the maniac storm of the Cadian gate. The ranks of the imperial guard spread out in vast lines before the relative handful of khornate marines. The sight of a pair of dripping leathery wings emerging from behind a bunker drew the Apostle's mind back to the battle at hand.  
A massive khornate daemon prince ran at the head of the berserker mobs, powering itself forward with massive sweeps of its wings, bearing a flaming glaive. The hulking figure roared continuously as it charged, ignoring the shots that blasted massive chunks from its blood soaked form. The inquisitor stepped forward with his retinue accompanied by one of the felonid daemonhosts that were so visible to Mikaihel's daemonic sight. He sensed the strain of the other daemon prince as it forced its way past the inquisitor's wall of psychic power. The inquisitor struggled desperately to strike at the fearsome figure with his weapon before the enormous flaming glaive cut him in two with a single stroke. The prince roared his victory over the steaming corpse as the inquisitor's retinue was cut down by one swing of his weapon as they attempted to flee from him. The futile impact of imperial weaponry only enhanced the ferocious being's pleasure.  
A small robed figure leapt onto the back of the blood wet daemon lord, its' silvery weapon gleaming amidst the flames of the daemons' mane. Sepheroth recognized an imperial warpspawn as it voiced its fury in a silent frenzy of blows that ripped the back of the khornate horror below it apart and released twin gouts of glowing life fluids that splattered the ground. The larger being batted the now ichor stained figure loose with its wings before goring it with a massive horn blow. The gathered forces of both armies were forced to close their eyes as a pillar of light blasting from the robed body ripped the daemon prince's skull from its neck and sent its massive corpse slamming into the midst of its more rapid followers.  
The Dark Apostle glanced up at the sky and was pleased to see the entry trail of drop pods descending to the rear of the imperial force. The rest of his Host's drop pods had evaded any imperial fire support and were coming in safely. The pods impacted the earth and unfurled their entry doors in rapid succession as the Khorne berserkers reached the imperial front lines and began their savage assault. The wordbearers began to assemble into assault groups as they emerged from their blackened and drained pods, a sonorous litany of malevolent faith rising from the Host of warriors as they closed with the rear of the now embattled imperial army. The guard and loyalist marines were caught between two deadly forces, one the mindless worshippers of a brutal god and the other the elect of Lorgar and the Chaos gods. Mikaihel's living robes rippled as he allowed the sight before him to stoke his emotions.  
Mikaihel gestured for his sleekly armored raptors to move as he pumped his metallic pinions in preparation for the descent into the flank of the imperialist force. He raised his barbed Crozius high as he leapt from the bluff and the others ignited their ancient jump packs. Sepheroth and his guard free fell for a few moments before they halted their descent and powered straight towards the battle. A black templar scout detected their approach and a squad of assault marines all bearing skull marked storm shields diverted their charge into the khornate mobs towards the daemonic figure rushing into their army's flank. The raptors broke off from their charge hovering in place to unleash a hail of fire into the black clad marines. A meltagun blast sent one of the assault marines spinning into the ground but the rest bulled into the Dark Apostle who met their assault grimly. His weapon lashed out and glanced off an upraised shield, unleashing a spray of sparks that lit up Mikaihel's lean hooded features amid the general insanity of the rising battle.  
  
Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Warhammer 40k in any way, shape or form. That honor belongs to Games Workshop and I'm not contesting that. I don't plan on making any money from this work and hope this doesn't get me sued. Please...


	2. Calm After the Storm

Part two. I'm aware that this won't gel with the first story but hope you can enjoy it none the less. As before, read and plant a review if it pleases. I won't hold back further sections if I don't get reviews, but I'd apreciate the feedback. Enjoy.

The Calm after the Storm  
  
Deep in the Eye of Terror, the daemon world of Sicarus was host to one of the greatest gatherings of Word Bearers since the Siege of Terra. Ancient and baroque warships plied the nearby void as the chaos marines aboard them joined in prayer to those glorious saviors of mankind: the gods of chaos. They patiently awaited the return of their Dark Apostles from the world below them. Sicarus was the crux of the Word Bearers' legion: home of their primarch and the place where worthy chaos acolytes were transformed into chaos space marines to carry out the long war against the False Emperor. It was on this world that the seeds of many dooms would be planted and nursed toward fulfillment by hatred, madness, and faith.  
In one of the highest towers of Sicarus, a council of Dark Apostles was in session. They met in an immense chamber which could have housed a titan and was illuminated by fitful balefires and the glow of ominous chaos runes. Tiers of black metal pews now bore three score of the most feared figures in the imperium. They varied in stature, visage, and wargear. Some were mostly human and others bore the marks of daemonhood. They all however wielded the Accursed Crozius. An ancient weapon and symbol of faith in the loyalist chapters, they represented faith of a different but no less dedicated order to these rebellious marines. The Dark Apostles of chaos had gathered to praise those who had brought the legion glory, admonish those who had failed in their efforts, and plan future acts in their eternal crusade.  
Lord Medreon rose and moved towards the speakers' podium. His massive suit of daemon armor pulsed in time to his footfalls and seemed to settle gelatinously as Medreon took his place at the podium. "Fellow scions of the great Lorgar! Chaos is victorious at the Cadian gate! Thus we are free to assault the realm of the False Emperor and seek converts among the ignorant sheep that dwell there. Can any say that the chosen of Lorgar are not ascendant in the universe?" Medreon paused in his oration, his pale blue eyes sliding over the attendant marines swiftly, clearly not expecting an answer. Suddenly a voice among the pews quietly and certainly spoke a single word in the rising silence, "Aye."  
Medreon tensed, his eyes narrowing, and spoke again, "How can you say this brother Mikaihel? What possible reason would you have to dispute this truth?" All eyes turned as Mikaihel rose to his feet: the daemonic figure's lean brown form wrapped in a rippling off-white robe. "I speak only the truth. Matters are less certain in Cadia than they seem and there are complex issues to be worked out before the gate will lie open to us." "Do you call my vision simplistic? Can you say that chaos does not favor us by merely letting us do its work? Do you challenge faith?" Medreon's tone grew steadily more contemptuous as his armor sprouted spines in response to its masters anger.  
Mikaihel too grew incensed and allowed his robe to partially unfurl and reveal his harsh narrow face with his yellow glowing eyes. "I am not an agnostic nor am I a mercenary Night Lord or black legionary. I serve chaos as it directs me and will continue to do so as long as I am allowed. The problems I speak of reflect not ascendance but relative ascendance! I speak of the Warmaster of Chaos: Abaddon the Despoiler!" Mikaihel visibly calmed himself as Dark Apostles around the chamber took in this statement. Before they could respond he spoke again, "I doubt not that the gods have chosen him as one of their champions. But does that give him leave to disrupt the glorious work of other champions of chaos? To demand action which lessons the service of others? Our glorious father, Lorgar the Everchosen, himself does not act so unthinkingly!" He whipped his hand around the room, finally locking gazes with Lord Medreon standing at the podium. "Brother Herklen is not here! He was dispatched to Manzita III to guide its' inhabitants to our light when the despoiler demanded my immediate service in his war. Herklen's Host was not strong enough to defend that claim when the imperium found and attacked Manzanita! Abaddon might as well have fired the torpedoes which destroyed Herklen's vessel himself..." "Enough!" barked Medreon as he strode from the podium toward the defiant figure. His eyes blazed with psychic fire as his barbed form moved to deal with the upstart.  
Lord Medereon's voice hummed with controlled anger as he gazed upwards into Mikaihel's face, "Your accusations are inflammatory and dangerous, Brother Dark Apostle. Given that your statements hold true, what would you have us do? Challenge the Warmaster? Such unthinking assaults are more worthy of a blood mad World Eater. Were you a member of my Host, I would strike you down where you stand. Medreon finished his tirade in a low tone intended only for Mikaihel's ears. Mikaihel stood shaking under this censure a moment, then resolve hardened his features and he locked glares with the senior Word Bearer. "I do not claim your degree of mastery over the warp and I may lack your perceptive on this matter," his voice rose as his temper was piqued, "but I do not propose that we strike out against Abaddon in his hour of triumph. I merely suggest that it is time for Lorgar's children to start acting in a matter that will increase the value of our service to chaos not diminish it.. If there was any time for us to break away from Abaddon's service now is that time! He is committed to Cadia and our debts to him are the most fulfilled that they've been in centuries! Now is the moment! If we let it pass, we may be as tightly bound to him as those fawning supplicants of his Black Legion." He paused a moment to take in the admiring looks of his peers but Medreon responded with a fierce comment and he had to respond.  
The argument continued for hours, the two Dark Apostles slashing and stabbing at one another with their words. The eloquence normally turned toward the conversion of multitudes was a fierce weapon in a debate and could be only turned aside by a blind stubbornness born of millennia of devotion, a trait common in this legion of zealots. In such a contest their physical weapons were forgotten by the duo as they verbally assaulted one another. The observing Apostles were silent, their support being caught between Medreon's rank and Mikaihel's fervor. The argument was halted suddenly by a resonant voice that emanated from the empty air.  
"Hold your tongues my most quarrelsome children.", the booming voice chided gently as Dark Apostles knelt and lowered their heads out of respect, "It is time for your divine primarch to settle this matter that you may move on to other issues of import to the beneficent gods of chaos.". Medreon and Mikaihel dropped to their knees as well, their strife forgotten in the instinctive obedience Lorgar inspired in all wordbearers. "Ready yourselves for the coming of your primarch.", the voice commanded. Dark Apostles dropped their eyes to the ground, not even the mightiest daemon prince daring to look upon their divine father.  
Light glared into the chamber as a massive set of engraved doors opened at the northern end of the chamber opposite the podium. The light silhouetted the terminator armor clad retinue surrounding Lorgar whose form could not have been discerned had anyone been bold enough to look. Lorgar's massive footfalls moved down the central aisle toward the prostrate duo halting mere yards from Mikaihel's robe wrapped body. The center of the light seemed to focus on the daemonic figure below it before speaking again.  
"Mikaihel, your fervor does yourself credit." Mikaihel's down turned eyes lit up with pleasure but dimmed as he digested what was said next, "However, your lack of experience requires that you listen to the advice of your superiors. I have deemed that Medreon is one such being and thus has authority over you." Medreom grinned inside his helmet as Mikaihel murmured, "Forgive my transgressions, father. Your will is the way of the legion." "Quite. Medreon- calling a fellow Word Bearer's faith into question is not worthy behavior of my children. See that it does not occur again." Lorgar's voice rumbled with displeasure as the armored figure shrank back from this condemnation. Lorgar moved back toward the open doors with his retinue before speaking one last time, "Let this council continue its' sacred business uninterrupted hence forth. Such displays as I have just witnessed shall not mar this most dedicated of legions. Chaos guide you toward the correct path in its service." "As chaos wills." replied the gathered Dark Apostles while the doors sealed Lorgar's light from the cavernous chamber.  
  
Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Warhammer 40k in any way, shape, or form. That honor belongs to Games Workshop and I'm not contesting that. I don't intend to make a profit off this and hope that this doesn't get me sued! Please...


	3. The Rending of a Veil

Chapter three (and it's a doozy...). This is the most ambitous of my works and hope it isn't too boring. Again it doesn't gel with the last chapter, but that was my intent. This thing took a lot of effort to produce and I actually care if I can get reviews off of this. Read, hopefully enjoy and review if you fit. Thank you for your time. Disclaimer still at the end...

The Rending of a Veil  
Mikaihel, Dark Apostle and Daemon Prince of the Word Bearers chaos space marine legion, parried a chainsword blow with his curved secondary weapon while tearing a gaping wound in the assault marine's chest with the Accursed Crozius in his left. A powerfist blow was halted by an eruption of white sparks as it struck at the daemon prince's rear. The force of the blow sent Mikaihel plummeting towards the earth, before he powered upward with a sudden pumping of his wings. The ebon clad Black Templar assault marines scattered before his rush, regrouping above, below, and around him in an effort to cut the white robed Word Bearer down. Mikaihel swung with his barbed Crozius to his right, deftly thrusting his other blade past a Black Templar's shield and through his chest. The marine dropped as a glancing strike from below tore through Mikaihel's robe. A second chainsword strike glanced off the wings releasing thin droplets of blood from the resultant rents in the adamine pinions. The Dark Apostle quickly suppressed his grimace of pain as he initiated a series of dives, climbs and aerial dashes in an effort to spread out his assailants. The Black Templar pursued, their righteous fury goading them onward. Their jump packs flared like miniature suns as they dueled with Mikaihel in groups of two. The Dark Apostle's blows were often as not deflected by the glowing shields of his loyalist opponents. Mikaihel whispered litanies of endurance as the tactical indoctrination of his ancient youth analyzed the danger of his situation. One of his powerfist wielding opponents dived at him from above. The Dark Apostle's wing seized up as one of his fractured pinions jammed against another robbing him of his ability to dodge as the loyalist struck.  
The crackling powerfist disintegrated Mikaihel's shoulder and most of his right wing. The daemon prince was sent plummeting towards the ground, his robes flailing in sympathetic distress with his pain. The Dark Apostle was silent as he fell, clutching his Crozius as he hit the ground with bone crushing force. The Black Templar followed him to the ground, their jump packs bathing the earth with flame as they touched down. The squad surrounded the horribly wounded figure and surveyed it in silence. The squad leader advanced on Mikaihel his power sword humming as he raised it for the death blow. His look of contempt turned to one of anger as he saw the lack of fear in the daemon prince's eyes. He lashed out with his blade as the Dark Apostle whispered, "A daemon need not fear oblivion...". The fallen figure began to dissolve even as it stilled.  
  
The warp is a howling maelstrom of insanity. A cacophony of voices calls out at once in a million languages for every thing and anything. This place is the true home of all daemonkind. They ventured into the hostile banquet that is the material universe whenever possible and inevitably returned here when they were over come by the constraints of physics. Here daemons pounce on newly released souls and each other. An incoming daemon, replete with the sensations and pleasures of the material universe, was particularly vulnerable to such attack. The weakened entity would be set upon by a multitude of its peers, each eager to share in the memories. They couldn't truly hurt one another here in their native realm but they could tear apart the minds of their peers in a mindless desire for sustenance. The shattered victims would recover and grow to hunger experience again as they mended their psyches and readied themselves for the maniac feeding frenzy that marked daemonic intrusions into real space thus starting the cycle anew, time after time.  
Mikaihel had become adept at enduring the transition to warp space. When he first ascended to daemonhood he had been shielded by the chaos gods themselves. When that protection had been withdrawn he had relied on a complex mantra of faith to filter out the insanity, but even the most devout prayer could be disrupted... Ultimately the best solution to the problem was to place a wall of silence around his mind that no daemon could pierce. In this condition, Mikaihel entered a state that was as much like sleep as he could still achieve and all minds, human, xeno, or daemon, dream in their sleep of a past their waking minds have forgotten.  
  
On the hiveworld of Midgar, six millennia ago... Captain Sain Gaisis of the Midgar Planetary Defense Force felt like collapsing in tears where he stood. He was exhausted and numbed by the horrors he had witnessed. His unit had been sent into the underhive on a routine mission to curb excess gang violence that was influencing hive production values. It had started normally enough, picking off the odd underhiver while moving towards the local gang stronghold. His squads had taken position around the squalid fortress when it all went wrong.  
Cloak clad gangers had boiled out of the darkness around them in an endless tide as a larger figure in blue armor directed the attack from the shadows at the rear of his force. Sain's soldiers had fought well, gunning down wave after wave of them with volleys of lasfire. When clumps of gangers managed to close with their ranks, the flare of flamers and the cough of shotguns drove them off. The central mass of the enemy had entered optimal weapons range when a mind bending blast of light temporarily illuminated the dank shadows of the decaying battlefield. Glowing shifting horrors, dripping fire from every orifice now led the attacking mob. They surged forward and a wave of flame burst from them to engulf his nearest troopers. The effects of the blast left him gaping in horror at the pathetic victims. The lucky ones were burned to the bone and lay dead. Others were horribly mutated, eyes, mouths and tendrils sprouting from every surface leaving them twitching in agony as they stilled one by one. Hardening his resolve, he led his command squad forward in time to assault the protean horrors. The creatures were strong but slow and clumsy. They seemed unable to direct their own flailing attacks and failed to dodge blows directed at them. Gaisis' shotgun, wielded like a club, bruised and burst their flesh with every strike. Those creatures not wounded in combat faded into the empty air, seeming to burn away among their own flames. When the last of the creatures were gone the ganger attack lost momentum. The looming blue armored figure moved away amid the shadows. The enemy broke away in driblets and PDF fire soon put paid to those inclined to fight. The attack was over.  
The return uphive was quiet. Gaisis and his men were unwilling to speak to each other as they watched for any sign of their foes returning. Once they cleared the underhive sectors and were moving back to the security checkpoint, their spirits lifted with the thought of joining their loved ones again. The presence of massed chimeras, their weapons trained on his depleted force, raised Sain's ire and he gestured to his command quad that he was going forward to deal with the situation. Leaving his weapons behind, he marched up to the lead soldiers and held his hands where they could be clearly seen before he started to speak, "I am PDF Captain Gaisis, ID number – 1103-0998, returning from an underhive strike and request to know why my troops and I are receiving such... forceful attention."  
"Orders from above, Captain, orders from above. Hive central command to be precise." The speaker stepped clear from the mass of troops surrounding Gaisis and Gaisis couldn't help but feel intimidated by the stylized 'I' engraved on the figure's heavy red suit of carapace armor. The speaker stood confidently, hands on the holster of his twin hellpistols. "I am lieutenant Crasis of the fifth stormtrooper regiment and I have orders regarding you and troops." Stormtroopers armed with longer, heavier hellguns pushed their way to the front of the crowd as he spoke. "Under the authority of Hive central command and the Ordos Hereticus of the Inquisition, you and your men are to be taken into custody and isolated until such time as your spiritual purity can be determined." Sain Gaisis was horrified and couldn't speak. They had been given the equivalent of a death sentence. Any resistance on their part would be suicidal and would probably lead to the torment of their families if they weren't already being targeted. Sain forcibly controlled his voice as he turned his face towards Crasis again. "Understood. My soldiers will stand down and let themselves be taken into custody as befits loyal subjects of the Emperor." Crasis grinned nastily at the word loyal and responded, "I expected nothing less."  
Some hours later, after being transferred to a vessel in orbit around Midgar, Sain was strapped to a bare metal table stripped to the waist. The chamber was a spartan questioning chamber complete with implements of torture. The tools were still wrapped as Sain willingly and completely told his story to the three other occupants of the room. One was a thin adept in the robes and characteristic augmentations of the Mechticanous. Another crouched in one of the corners, a look of madness rolling across her perfect features as she grinned and twitched in the corner. The last and most impressive was Inquisitor Macberius, tall and heavily armored, a man with the cold countenance of a hawk. He was stoic as Sain repeated the story of what happened for the third time. "Have you got that down Fecalculus?" "Every word, my lord." responded the adept. "And was it different from last time?" "There were differences present, but they can be attributed to the effects of fear on the subject's mind." The adept sent a look of contempt Sain's way as he finished, "It is my conjecture that he thinks of this as the whole truth of the matter." "Rachael, what is your take on this?" The crouched figure seemed to struggle to focus for a moment before she answered, "He speaks a truth, but the truth is meaningless when the Writhing Serpent of Fate has a hand in the game. His roving eye is fixed upon this world and he plays his games with his human puppets. Heeee ah ha ha ha ha..." Rachael dissolved into laughter as her eyes rolled into her head. The inquisitor studiously ignored his minion's hysterics as he considered the message she delivered. Long minutes passed this way in silence, Sain Gaisis growing increasingly alarmed yet not daring to speak or draw more attention to himself. Then a cold smile lit up Macberius' brooding face and Rachael laughed in a way that made Sain break out in a cold sweat.  
  
The convoy of vehicles rumbled their way across the broken fields, following the direction in which their Dark Apostle had been driven by his Black Templar attackers. The crimson hulls of the vehicles proclaimed their allegiance to the monastic Word Bearers' chaos space marine legion. The ornate spike encrusted rhinos at the core of the column were surrounded by ramshackle trucks filled with devout cultists and acolytes. In the lead rhino, a chaos marine with bandaged eyes scanned the landscape with warp- spawned senses other than sight.  
In the mist shrouded vision of the lookout, a sudden gleam of balefire caused him to excitedly vox the leader of the convoy. The group of vehicles turned toward the sighting hastily, cult trucks speeding up to surround the target. When the chaos marines disembarked from their rhinos within the parameter formed by their support troops, the spotter moved to a slowly bubbling pool of mud. Quickly he scoped the hot mud away to reveal the form of Mikaihel's Accursed Crozius. It was worse for wear, the damage done to it by the Black Templar clearly visible. Careful not to touch the barbed weapon, the marine stepped back as one of the daemon prince's chief lieutenants stepped forward bearing a baroque case on his back.  
Unhitching the case, he took out two pairs of tongs and lifted the lid. He then delicately lifted up the daemon weapon of his lord with them and placed it inside. He silently sealed it and then all present knelt and quickly prayed before they remounted their vehicles and headed back to the Word Bearer encampment.  
  
Sain Gaisis sat alone in his cell, the gloom of the chamber lit only by a failing glow strip. His body shook with exhaustion yet he could not sleep. The inquisitor had ordered him taken here shortly after finishing his questioning. The thought of being tortured or worse yet, being touched by that demented psyker witch of his had made him tell every thing about the encounter with the gangers in the underhive. Despite the fact that he told the truth, he couldn't help but shudder at the way Macberius' eyes had narrowed as he described the eldritch horrors that had attacked them and the hulking armored figure who had directed the assault. Gaisis could but pray to the Emperor that he and his men would be released and returned to their homes, if they had homes left.  
Finally closing his eyes after staring at the wall for hours, Gaisis was awakened as a red armored guard stormed into the cell and forced him to his feet. He was pushed along the corridor with others of his command as they too were driven out of their cells. Finally, they were forced into a large theater like chamber replete with icons of inquisition and a raised balcony which overlooked the expansive room. Inquisitor Macberius stood on that balcony, his cold eyes skimming over the crowd of PDF troops. He smiled thinly before beginning, "As most of you know by now, I am a representative of his most holy Emperor's inquisition. This meaning what it does, requires that I take measures to safeguard his realm. That which you encountered in the 'underhive' is one of the greatest threats we face and necessitates the most dire of measures."  
The inquisitor's voice became even colder as looks of dismay began to filter through his captive audience. "There can be no mercy towards this threat and any sacrifice is warranted as we oppose it. This great enemy has filtered its way onto your world and into the deepest roots of your hives. Those you slew were merely the foremost tendril of a great contagion which will turn your entire world into a monument to desecration. They were not mere 'rebellious gangers and mutants', they were pawns to the eternal foes of mankind: the False Deities of Chaos. To rid the universe of such a foul rot, I have sanctioned the most drastic of measures: Exterminatus for your world! It is better to lose a thousand worlds to destruction than to allow one follower of chaos to survive and prosper!" Now Gaisis and his troops shouted in horror and realization, horror at the death sentence of their world and the realization that they had faced the dreaded chaos bogeymen that filled the dark whispers of even the upperhive. Macberius sounded sad as he spoke again over the stunned murmuring of the crowd, "You are among those to contact this plague and emerge seemingly unblemished. I fear however, that the insidious threads of Chaos work their way through your souls even as we speak. To face Chaos without foreknowledge and forewarning is to be inevitably corrupted. As you are yet good faithful men of the Emperor, I give you the next several hours to seek His mercy as I begin the purification of your world. You will then be killed to save us all from abomination." As the men around him cried out in fear and anger, Sain Gaisis became silent as anger froze on his face under a mask of rigid control. The mask didn't shift even as the inquisitor's red clad troopers moved to subdue the unruly PDF soldiers. He glanced at Macberius' armored back as the inquisitor left the balcony via a shadowed corridor. Sain's former soldiers were forcibly calmed by the blows of clubs and hellgun butts.  
  
The encampment hummed with activity as acolytes and initiates hurried to finish the ritual's preparations before the Word Bearer chaos marines finished their private rites. A large pentagram was carved on the ground in the central plaza, delineated in rich black paint. Torches marked each corner of the shape, their fey lights illuminating the gathering dusk and casting weird shadows on the walls as the acolytes carried out their tasks.  
Dusk faded into night and all was in readiness. Chaos marines knelt nearest the sigil with the acolytes forming a crowd around their masters. Outside the encampment walls, vast mobs of mutants chanted and screeched their prayers to the skies. In the encampment itself though, silence fell as a procession of Chosen chaos space marines emerged from the chaos cathedral at the heart of the camp. These veterans, the most high of the Host, followed Mikaihel's chief lieutenant through the parting crowd toward the pentagram. The twin lines of Chosen split up to surround the immense sigil and revealed the near naked figure of an initiate, his body marked with deeply carved tattoos that wept blood and ink. He step forward and knelt before the lieutenant who shifted the case containing the Dark Apostle's Accursed Crozius to the ground. The initiate tremblingly grasped the weapon and struggled not to scream as the daemon bound inside the weapon racked the initiate's body with pain and the ebony of the weapon's haft merged with his skin and absorbed his fingers. The Chosen stepped forward and tossed their smoking censors into the pentagram. Immediately, a dome of gray smoke formed atop the pentagram. With this done the initiate strode into the arcane mist, his eyes tearing in pain as he faded from sight amid the warp laden fumes.  
  
Gaisis sat in his darkened cell, his mind a swirl of doubt and rage. He refused to let himself break down into tears even as another rumble shock the black ship. He could only imagine the world killing ordinance falling from this vessel's guts like arsenic laced rain towards his world. He had prayed to the Emperor, zealously at firs, to intervene and save his home from the sadistic maniac that claimed to speak in His name. Sain's prayers were disrupted by his discordant thoughts. He could not believe that Midgar was doomed by the simple presence of the followers of chaos. His men had cut down four times their number with only twenty percent casualties. Surely the followers of chaos could be stopped without killing his entire world! Sain's prayers had faltered and stopped as the rumbles continued apace without slowing.  
The realization that his world was dying below him finally broke through his shell of control and brought a cry of fury to his lips. He lashed out at the wall with his fist, only to cradle his injured hands moments after it rebounded from the metal surface. Despair replaced anger and he held his head in his hand as yet another rumble passed through the ship. He was helpless to save his world, his men, or even himself. There was no one and nothing that would stop the inquisitor from extinguishing his homeworld on a whim. On this thought, Sain Gaisis fell into a black sleep that promised only bad dreams.  
A noise awoke Sain from his troubled sleep, hours or minutes later he couldn't tell, a noise different from the now silent rumble that had been permeating the black ship. It came again, a distant clang followed by a tearing sound like chainsaws riping through metal. The sound came again and again, Gaisis only able to guess at the source. The chattering of small arms fire in the outside corridor followed by the dull boom of some heavier weapon firing back informed Gaisis of a firefight. The curses of humans was drowned out by the buzz of chain swords and a monotone chanting that somehow twisted at his' brain with their alien sounding syllables. Shortly, silence fell in the outside corridor and he was left to wonder at the turn of event.  
Much later, Sain Gaisis was awakened as his cell door opened and a deep loud voice curtly ordered, "Get up. You are to come with me by the Dark Apostle's will." Too shaken to disobey, Gaisis paused in shock at what he saw in the outer corridor. The floors were stained with blood and the scars of weapon impacts were scattered about the walls. His troopers stood dazedly in the corridor, but his gaze was drawn to the looming figure that bulked over them all. Its baroque red armor was severe looking and covered in yellow stained purity seals. It carried a massive chainsword in a sheath and a bolt pistol in its right hand. Its apparently sunken head in a studded helmet looked over the gawking crowd of humans before it. "Get moving, we have to meet the blessed one soon." Unwilling to further irritate the massive figure, Gaisis moved with the rest of the troopers toward the theater-like chamber where the inquisitor had addressed them before.  
Something clicked in his mind as Sain's eyes swept over the stained glass window that rose from the floor to the ceiling. The glass bore a vivid rendering of the Emperor triumphant, but it was the figures clustered below that golden image that drew his eye. Space marines! The Angels of Death! His distracted mind called up a dozen points of trivia and rumor about the legendary Adeptus Astartes, none of it particularly helpful or insightful. Clearing his thoughts, Gaisis focused on the situation at hand. Their rescuers must be space marines. Their size and armor proclaimed their nature even though some of the iconography seemed odd...  
It was at this point that a low clear voice disturbed Sain's thought and drew every eye in the room to itself. The marines knelt in a whir of hydraulics all around the room as an imposing figure stepped to the edge of a speaking platform. He wore no helmet allowing one to see his features. His eyes were clear in a weathered broad face. His armor was covered in tiny lines of text inscribed in a fine flowing style that made it impossible to read from a distance. He was no taller than the rest of the marines yet drew every gaze as he spoke again, "Men of Midgar! I am the Dark Apostle Pontirus and I bring you liberation! Not just mere liberation from the threat of death and destruction posed by a mad inquisitor, but liberation from a false faith to a weakling god who lead mankind to destruction." A murmur ran through the crowd of PDF troopers around Gaisis as the more ardent believers of the imperial cult voiced their dismay at this statement.  
The Dark Apostle continued, silencing the dissenters with a look, "Is this not so? This inquisitor was allowed to proceed unchecked, unleashing his wrath on your world because he could not save the wheat while disposing of the chaff! Your world suffers for his weakness!" A hologram appeared in the air before the platform, a quick montage of horrors verifying the acuity of his words. Midgar convulsed under an orgy of death: hives with smoking holes leaking poisoned air into delicate interiors, people fleeing into the wastelands only to die as the toxic filth of millennia ate through their protective suits and finally, blue power armored figures wandering through the chaos unharmed. This last image brought a cry to the soldier's lips.  
The one who had led the attack of chaos cultists that had started all this had been thus armored in blue, a color which contrasted strongly with the vivid red of their rescuers. A thought gathered in the room, whispered at first and soon shouted aloud by the gathered PDF troopers. "Our world dies and those who drew this doom down upon us are immune to it! Midgar dies for nothing!" The Dark Apostle's eyes gleamed as he spoke again and gradually restored the room to silence, "This is the result when men invoke a weak god who lacks the power and the will to protect his worshipers! Yes, you should feel rage and frustration at the death of everything you have ever known! This doom is assured, for even if the hives can be repaired and the forces your inquisitor sought to destroy don't use this period of anarchy to achieve victory, he has released potent bio toxins to finish his ghastly work!" The room was quiet as the hygienically minded hive dwellers remembered ingrained lessons about the danger of disease in such close quarters as the hives demanded.  
If anything more aware of the perils of bioweapon usage, Sain Gaisis could only imagine the results of an intentional release of such poisons. He looked at his former soldiers and struggled to gather the energy needed to say anything helpful to them before giving up and returning to his introspective thoughts. Sain looked up as Pontirus spoke again, "The magnitude of such woe can crush an unsupported being. Faith in a higher power is the only thing that can see one through such a thing as this, but faith must be placed in good trust. A god who does nothing to aid his people after they have sacrificed long and hard is not worthy of such faith."  
Gaisis stilled as did every other being in the room as the Dark Apostle drew a gleaming weapon from its sheath. The haft was like ebony and golden spikes extruded from it as they watched. The marines at the edge of the room began an indecipherable chant that twisted at the edge of Sain's hearing as though it wasn't meant for human ears. Pontirus spoke again, his voice loud and echoing against the back drop of chanting marines as he drove his message into the hearts and minds of the PDF soldiers, "It was the Emperor and his lackeys who have doomed your world! His vision of mankind's needs are myopic and faulty. Your world has fallen and been destroyed because of His agent's inability to stop That Which Permeates The Universe! Chaos! True, chaos is cruel, merciless, and demanding. It asks for that which most men lack: absolute faith. The excesses of chaos can destroy any man, but a balance of its facets brings perfection! So spake the Primarch Lorgar, four millennia ago when he rose up against the False Emperor, he who has doomed your world through his ignorance, and sought to bring humanity into an era of unsurpassed glory! I invite you, those who have seen the corruption at the heart of the False Emperor's undeserving dominion, to join the true crusade: a crusade against the weakness of man when he is deprived of worthy gods! I can promise that no follower of the Word Bearer creed will die in vain, for the gods acknowledge each sacrifice and never act without reason! Join my Host, follow our creed and never be without purpose again!"  
As the crowd of soldiers was filled with confusion, Sain Gaisis fell to his knees. His heart and soul was in turmoil. The memories of his youth: of the beneficent Emperor watching over his flock battled against the horrific memories of the most recent days. He could only see the Dark Apostle's words against the backdrop of his world's demise. Knowing that all he loved was dead or dying drove him further into despair. In the blackness of his mind, he flailed for something to hang onto, something to restore certainty to his world. That something was Pontirus' voice, more calm, more controlled now. "Those who would join us will depart upon our vessels within the hour. You will then become a part of our eternal pilgrimage which seeks to bring the light of Chaos to the hearts of men and grant them the spiritual and physical power to withstand the tribulations of the universe. Those who retain faith in the False Emperor will be returned to your dying homeworld in the hope that He will save it from its demise. I would not have your blood taint the sanctity of my Host's weapons and will allow this mercy." The crowd began to split, many going with the chaos marines through the northern most passage under the balcony. Only a few went the other way resigned and willing to die with their world.  
Sain stood caught in the middle for a moment. He gazed at the Dark Apostle as he sheathed his ebony weapon and than Gaisis followed the bulk of the crowd under the balcony and into the passage way. A word in high gothic was emblazoned on the archway above the passage. Mikaihelian. Rebirth in the grandest of mankind's tongues. Sain Gaisis thought the word appropriate for those forsaken by all they've known and embracing a fearful new course. Having made his choice, Sain felt a small measure of peace as he fell into introspection. Perhaps it would make an apt name as well. There was certainly no strength to be drawn from his current one and changes, painful changes, had and would continue to occur. Perhaps a new name would ease the transition. Mikaihel indeed seemed to fit... Lost in his musings, he was swallowed by the shadows of the hallway.  
  
When the initiate had vanished into the mist, the Chosen began to sonorously chant a catechism as old as the Imperium. They called to the dark gods in their eternal glory for their champion to be returned to them. The chaos marines and acolyte took up the refrain, a lighter psalm that carried to the sound of the rite to the gathered mutant hoards outside the encampment. The mutants ceased their screeching, enthralled by the chorus. A sudden flurry of lightning bolts struck the dome of smoke in the center of the plaza, lancing out of the night without warning. A terrible pressure gathered in the gray mist: the ground cracking, static leaping from the spikes on the chaos marine's armor, and daemonic visages flickering into and out of existence. These were mere signs of the laws of physics being twisted beyond their limitations as a bubble of warp space formed in the plaza.  
The formation of the bubble snapped Mikaihel out of his trance and drove the memories of his dream from his wakening mind. He lashed out with his warp bound senses, seeking something amid the cacophony of voices that packed the warp and were beginning to close on the locus of his being. Mikaihel found it in the initiate whose bloody tattoos blazed light to keep the hungry spirits of the warp away from him until the Dark Apostle could find him. The daemon prince poured into the initiate's body, swiftly consuming his soul as he subdued the stubborn daemon trapped in his Crozius. His mind rallied, Mikaihel gathered his energies for the return to material space.  
In the plaza, the dome of smoke began to collapse into itself swiftly becoming translucent. Soon the Dark Apostle was visible in flashes: a lean limb sprouting a curved blade, a black weapon with spikes of gold, and metallic wings congealing out of the mist. He absorbed the magically enriched fumes, forming it into his physical manifestation. The fleeing forms of daemons were briefly visible as they hurried away from the interface, unwilling to be absorbed by the incarnating daemon prince in his monumental need for energy. Mikaihel collapsed the warp bubble with a deafening crack, the sound sharply echoing of the dark metal buildings of the encampment as the chorus of Chosen, marines, and acolytes fell silent. The golden winged figure crouched panting on the bleached and melted ground that had been emblazoned with the pentagram. His robe lashed restlessly and he tightly clutched his Crozius as he began to control his labored breathing. His wings furled themselves as he straightened and looked over the silent mass of his Host from under his hood. The silence held, the passivity of his face concealing any emotions he might be experiencing. Then Mikaihel, Dark Apostle and Daemon Prince, directed his Host in prayer lit by torches in the moonless night.  
  
Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Warhammer 40k in any way, shape or form. That honor belongs to Games Workshop and I'm not contesting that. I don't intend to make a profit from this and hope that this doesn't get me sued... Please!


	4. Dark Angels at Prayer

Here's chapter 4. As before, this doesn't flow right from the the last chapter and the legal disclaimer is at the end. Read, hopefully enjoy, and review if you see fit...

Dark Angels at Prayer  
  
The spartan encampment at the Word Bearers' landing site had been transformed by the labor of cultists and machines. Barracks, armories, and guard towers adorned with the sigils of the chaos gods surrounded a vast dark cathedral dedicated to the undiluted glory of chaos like ants around their queen. The cathedral had been forged of human suffering, but it was finished now and seemed to project a shadow of latent pain that contrasted with its stately form. The sounds of voices raised in prayer could be heard echoing around the base. The scene was empty of living things with only the motion of Word Bearer banners detectable in the gathering dusk.  
The interior of the cathedral was filled with chaos marines, acolytes, and initiates. The congregation was led in its' prayers by a tall figure in off-white robes that billowed about him with a life of their own. Mikaihel, Dark Apostle and Daemon Prince of the Word Bearers chaos space marine legion, gave his sermon in a resounding tone that could be heard by anyone in the building without the aid of technology. "The glory of chaos has been shown to us in that they have chosen to test us with such mighty opponents, that we might please their hunger with our worthy victories. We have been defeated but never broken and our vengeance shall overcome those who would mock the scions of Lorgar and the glories of chaos! We shall use those who blindly abandon themselves to Khorne as a shield for our advance and claim victory from the angels of the False Emperor! Now, go forth to your dwelling places and prepare for battle." Mikaihel intoned, "We shall meet these prey in a matter of days and wring their souls from their unworthy flesh as tribute to the eternal glory of chaos."  
Afterward, Mikaihel retired to the lower levels of the temple which doubled as his command center and moved toward his quarters. He was halted by a voice from the shadows, "The Word Bearer reputation for eloquence is obviously not overrated," it said, the cloaked figure smiling in his ebony hood, "Your men will do anything for you." "As they should." responded Mikaihel, "Unlike some other legions, mine is wholeheartedly dedicated to chaos, Cypher." The dark green armor of his armor reflected the pale torchlight as Cypher, mysterious leader of the Fallen, responded, "True as that is, I have reason to suspect that the Dark Angels know I am here." "That would provoke quite a severe response", Mikaihel replied gravely, "How would you know this?" "The latest scrying reports seem to indicate that the strike cruiser Unrelenting Vigilance has come to this world. That is a ship personally seconded to Ezekial, the Dark Angel's Grand Master of Libarians, and every time that I have encountered that ship, he has been aboard it. They wouldn't have sent him to this world unless they considered the situation extremely important. The thought of my capture is one of the few things that could call him out of his precious sanctum. He's quite frustrated with me by now." The corners of the Cypher's mouth quirked upward in amusement. "If that is the situation we will have to prepare a suitable reception for them." Mikaihel concluded seriously, "We will discuss this matter later. I have to go to my personal devotions now." "May chaos guide your path." "Indeed it shall." As the Dark Apostle moved down the dim corridor, Cypher faded into the shadows of the catacombs once more.  
  
The Dark Angels were on the move. They rumbled across the salt desert aboard their dark green rhinos, massive landraider, and nimble black landspeeders. The detachment consisted of roughly 60 loyalist space marines aboard a dozen support vehicles and raised clouds of dust in its wake that could be seen for miles. Interrogator Chaplin Johanous, commander of the force, rode atop a growling bike stained yellow by the dust. He was filled with righteous anger and constantly clenched and unclenched his free hand, aching with eagerness. He longed for the chance to smite the emperor's foes in battle once again, his desire for combat driven to dangerous intensity by the news that one of the Fallen was hiding on this world. That he cowered among the blasphemous Word Bearers only strengthened Johanous' need for combat.  
The Chaplin's mind twitched with anger as he thought about the Word Bearers. Oath breakers and heretics like the rest of their kind, they were the worst of the traitor legions in his eye. Their leaders claimed that Lorgar was spiritually superior to the almighty Emperor himself! They mocked the honored legacy of the Adeptus Astartes with their debased rituals and retention of the sacred weapons of their corrupted Chaplains! They lacked the mote of honor that the other traitor legions retained, for all of the other legions' chaplains had remained pure and were murdered... Johanous' inner monologue was interrupted as his vox unit spoke, "Interrogator-Chaplain Johanous. What is your ETA? The heretics' continued presence on this world is an insult that dare not stand much longer!" Grandmaster Amahel transmitted from aboard a Dark Angel strike cruiser where he and his terminators awaited the opportune moment to teleport into the midst of the chaos marine camp. Johanous was quick to answer.  
  
Mikaihel scowled at the bloodstained table before him. On it lay the mutilated remnants of a dozen ravens, products of multiple failures at divining the purpose and locations of his foes. The lean daemonic figure whispered litanies of patience beneath his breath as he gestured for his acolyte to prepare another sacrifice. "This will be the last time..." he muttered as he gripped the struggling animal and slipped into a trance, his hands carving arcane runes into its flesh.  
Some time later, Mikaihel strode out of his sanctum and through the corridors of his headquarters. His wings were tightly folded and his robes twitched and rippled in response to his repressed fury. Thirteen times, all the messages gibberish! This Ezekial was powerful indeed to render his warp senses so blind. He was going to have to rely on more powerful eyes than his own to pierce this fog..."My sacred Lord! I must request your attention!" The Dark Apostle was halted by a trembling initiate dressed in dark red robes. "Yes..." Mikaihel's tone failed to mask his irritation and the initiate cowered at the thought of angering his exalted commander. Mikaihel sighed in disappointment at his lapse and said comfortingly, "My anger is not with you, but with those who are blind to our light. Speak what you must that we may both continue our duties."  
The initiate's face lit with pleasure and he gushed out the message, "Brother Maikalus reports that the World Eaters can't be found. They have vanished into the depths of a city which lay between them and our camp. Given their proclivity for bloodshed, it is unlikely that they will be able to arrive before the False Emperor's minions." The initiate blinked himself awake, having recited the message in a trance and was unaware of what he had just spoken. Thus he was surprised as Mikaihel shoved past him, the white robes snapping in rage of their own accord.  
"Blood mad fools. They and their single minded god validate everything our Primarch preached about the dangers of excessive devotion to one part of the chaos pantheon. Khorne berserkers indeed..." He growled in frustration at the latest disruption of his Host's plans. He paused before a massive door at the end of the corridor, its surface alive with runes. He composed himself, tucking his wings against his back and willing his robes to wrap around him tightly. It would not due to enter this chamber in a state of unrest. He touched one of the fluid runes and spoke a single discordant phrase, one not meant for human ears. The door rose up and into the wall. Mikaihel strode through the doorway and into cluttered chamber beyond.  
The darkened chamber was littered with scraps of paper and the walls glowed with baleful scrawl. A fetid odor arose from the shadowed corners as moldering trash and old sacrifices rotted into nothing. An amused quavering voice cackled from one such corner before speaking, "Dark Apostle Mikaihel! It has been the longest time that I've had anyone but your dour marines to speak to... Hold on a second." A wad of blackened phlegm was spit into the light as the sickly figure emerged and faced the robe-wrapped Daemon Prince. The withered form was pocked and veins could be seen through its papery skin. Only a milky third eye gave clues as to its origins as an imperial navigator, those who guided the starships of humanity safely through the warp.  
Mikaihal responded sternly, "This is not a social visit. I need to speak to Auraless. His expertise is required to solve a problem." "The hooded stranger has brought guests, has he? I can feel the gaze of the stranger's foe and sense the fog he raises in the sea of souls..." "Enough word games human! I owe you respect as Auraless' host but circumstances demand that I contact the Daemon directly!" The Dark Apostle's voice snapped with irritation, his eyes glowing yellow. The withered creature before him involuntarily trembled.  
Suddenly the navigator's whole pose changed and when he spoke his voice was deep and resonant, Auraless, Lord of Change had taken control of his puppet, "Mikaihel. Why must you cut my host's fun short all the time? He means no harm, most of the time. It is the only pleasure left to him these days." "I will not banter words with you, Auraless. I have much to do and little time in which to do it. I have come because I have need for your services." The Dark Apostle was careful to mask the anger he was feeling. "You are always so curt with me. Why should I help such a brusque person?" The daemon's tone conveyed the impression that it was giggling inside. Mikaihel responded in a commanding tone. "By the pact brokered between myself and Tzeentch, the changer of ways, under the guidance of Lorgar I command your obedience Auraless the Morningstar, Voice of the Dawn." The possessed navigator's eyes flared with blue light as he was bound by the ritual phrase. The daemon hissed in fury before he responded, "What would you have me do?"  
"There is a Dark Angel's librarian by the name of Ezekial who clouds the warp with his meddling. I would know the Dark Angels' plan, so that I do not act in ignorance." Auraless was silent a moment, then it raised an eyebrow coyly, "He bested you didn't he? I could feel your paltry attempts to pierce his fog in vain. And your khornate pawns have been lured away by the scent of blood. You're embarrassingly desperate but I will do as you ask. This Ezekial is an entertaining challenge if I recall correctly. Such an effort will suck this poor host dry," Auraless gestured down at the body it wore, "and I happen to like this host with its exotic gifts. If I am to do this properly you must give me a sacrifice."  
Mikaihel scowled and nodded, knowing the daemon would never reveal its price before he agreed to give it and attempting to extract the answer would merely raise the cost. "Your word is your oath and 'an oath sworn is a deed done'. I believe that is a quote of yours?" The Dark Apostle nodded resentfully in an effort to not antagonize the daemon. "Since such an oath is sworn, I require that five initiates be brought to this chamber, drugged and bound, just before you want this task done." Mikaihel carefully repressed the anger that filled him, but Auraless knew him too well to miss the signs of his displeasure. The daemon laughed mockingly aloud and spoke one last time as the Dark Apostle turned to go, "Sometimes I think you forget your true nature, Mikaihel. You are just as much a daemon as I am, misguided though your faith is. You should be consuming the mortals' spirits left and right with the rest of us! Why else become a Daemon Prince?" The door lowered and the daemon host was lost from sight.  
  
The Dark Angels rested as they underwent evening prayer in the foothills to the west of the Word Bearer camp. The landspeeders had scouted ahead and Johanous stood vigil in his black armor awaiting their return. His auto scanner picked up the humming black spec of one of the nimble skimmers as it hurried toward his force's position. Johanous stood his ground as the speeder settled meters from his position. He walked over to help the pilot to the ground. "Greetings brother Christopher, what have you to report?" The pilot dropped to his knees before replying, "Interrogator- Chaplin. The heretic encampment is surrounded by vast mobs of degenerate mutants, packed together like vermin as they chant praises to their foul gods. There is no way to enter the camp undetected." This unwelcome news caused Johanous to raise an eyebrow inside his helmet as his mind sought a question that might bring more useful information to light.  
At length he replied, "What equipment do the mutants possess? Any heavy weapons evident?" "Not that we could detect at long range. The auspex seemed to indicate that any armored support was inside the walls of the camp." Johanous smiled grimly and activated his force-wide vox link in reply as his direct warrior instincts embraced the plan that lay before him, "Sons of the Lion, our duty calls us into the path of conflict once more. As you know, the heretical Word Bearers have desecrated the soil of one of the Emperor's worlds. They have established a citadel of corruption that is tainting all around it. It is our duty to purge them from this world! They have surrounded their dark fortress with a sea of degenerate flesh, the unsanctified ranks of a mutant hoard! We shall cleave our way through these unworthy foes and face their fell masters! It matters not that they shall learn of our coming as we scythe our way through their slaves, for we shall be whetted by the blood of the unworthy and our holy fury shall be stoked by the heat of battle as they stir from slothful idolatry! Dark Angels, to your vehicles. We ride with the Emperor's spirit this day!"  
As Johanous finished his sermon, the Dark Angel marines rose from their knees in a whir of servos. They were silent, grouping together in squads as they marched to their idling transports. Techmarines chanted over an exposed engine in one rhino, urging its spirit to cooperate with them. Johanous was pleased with his soldiers and activated a private vox channel, satisfied that he could speak in isolation. He gave a quick recount of events to an expectant Grandmaster Amahel, in response the Grandmaster intoned, "All is well, Brother Johanous. You will assault through the masses of mutants and draw the greater heretics from their dens as the Deathwing and I teleport into the heart of their camp. Subject 001 will most likely have associated himself with those in charge of the group. It has always been his way." "Then it has been verified that subject 001 is at this encampment?" Johanous' voice took on an excited tone at the thought. Amahel replied disapprovingly, "Nothing is certain about the Fallen, Interrogator-Chaplin. To capture the least of them is the same as capturing the leaders of their unrepentant bands. Always remember that."  
Johanous stilled at the veiled reprimand and responded, "Of course." His tone conveyed an agreement that his helmed features didn't. Amahel spoke one last time, "Very good. You will move out and strike for the Word Bearer camp. I will be teleporting into the camp at 0700 hours. Emperor be with you." The vox shut off and Johanous strode to his bike. He mounted the machine and made his way to the head of the column as he whispered psalms of discipline under his breath. The sound of the stalled rhino roaring to life stirred him from his reverie and he signaled the advance. He was so intent on his objective he failed to notice the clouds gathering over the Word Bearer camp.  
  
Mikaihel smiled as another bolt of lightning impacted the black clouds that hung low over his Host's encampment. He glanced down through the plasisteel window into the interior of the dark cathedral where he perched overlooking the camp. The cathedral was flooded with light as streamers of power flew up and out of the circles of sweating cultists located along the length of the knave. The power would flow into the ceiling and gather in the uppermost spire before arching into the clouds. Occasionally, a cultist would fall dead, drained of his lifeforce, only to be dragged away and his place taken by another eager volunteer. Acolytes armed with spears held the fervent masses of attendant cultists back, keeping them from glutting the spire with ethereal energy. Their unthinking enthusiam brought a dark cast over the Dark Apostle's thoughts.  
Speaking with Auraless always him feeling filthy, but the costly bargain had proven to be worth it. An hour after the quintet of initiates had been delivered to the daemon, Mikaihel had been presented with a scroll written by the daemon. It was transcribed in the Daemonic tongue, an arcane script in which one could not lie. Auraless' message had had been more direct that was his normal wont. The content of the message had not encouraged levity. The Dark Angels were striking for his camp in strength. Mikaihel did not doubt that his Host could be victorious, here on their sacred ground, but steps would have to be taken to limit the losses fighting in such sensitive areas could incur.  
A drop of rain hit his tightly coiled robes and he looked up as the skies burst into a torrential down pour. A cold wind lanced through the camp from the north and the rain rang off the metal roofs as the world was engulfed in glistening darkness. Mikaihel smiled beneath his robes at this sign of the Chaos gods' favor and uttered a quiet sincere prayer of gratitude. The Daemon Prince's solitude was disrupted as Cypher emerged from the shadows of the chaos cathedral's roof. The Fallen's dark green armor rang with the impact of eager rain drops and his dark robes were tangled by the wind that echoed amidst the harsh metal buildings. "You Word Bearers certainly don't take half measures. This is quite a storm fueled by quite a sacrifice." Cypher glanced down into the cathedral as he spoke where the ritual had halted and the masses of observing cultists were directed into transporting the bodies of the dead and exhausted into the depths of the cathedral's underground vaults. It was a task that would take some time. Mikaihel responded severely, "The gods demand a price for their assistance. I have received signs that such assistance shall be needed this battle, a battle provoked by your presence, and have done what is needed to procure it. Would you doubt my word in these matters?" The Dark Apostle's voice held a note of real anger that prompted Cypher to hold his tongue and merely shake his head in negation as an answer. The Dark Apostle was mollified by this token gesture and continued more calmly, "What was taken was surrendered willingly by those with faith in our creed. There was no waste in the effort and steps are being taken to insure that losses among the most humble of our flock are minimized." "I would expect no less from such a meticulous being as yourself.", Cypher added a touch too quickly and Mikaihel glanced sharply at him, offended by the perceived flattery. Cypher was saved from a tongue lashing as Mikaihel responded to a vox link, "The assault has begun? Western gate? Have the mutants hold position as we gather to repel them in the surrounding streets. All tanks are to remain in the vehicle pool, the gods have chosen that this battle be fought without them. The raptors are to be held in check as well. Allow the loyalist fools to break through until the streets break up their advance and then crush their flanks. The Primarch will smile on us this day." This speech was broken up by lengthy pauses as the lieutenant at the other end of the conversation added relevant questions. As the contact ended, Mikaihel allowed his robes to unravel and flexed his wings with a pattering sound as the rain pelted them. If anything, the arcane storm had worsened and hail joined the moisture falling from the sky. The Dark Apostle turned to Cypher with a look that was part question and part command as his robes snapped in the wind, "You are coming. Your presence will prove quite distracting to these fools." With that, Mikaihel leapt into the storm, trusting to his skill to guide him through the punishing buffets. Cypher remained still a moment longer before seeking out the stairs that would lead him to street level.  
Johanous cursed the weather that had erupted during their attack and the misfortune it had spawned. His force had been methodically destroying the foul mutants who had stood in their path and the mutants could not harm the Dark Angel vehicles with their few 'heavy weapons' at their disposal. Johanous himself, riding on his bike had been the only soft point of the line and he rode in the center of the thrust, forcing any would be attackers to endure a barrage of fire from at least a dozen tanks. His Crozius Arcanium was wet with the ichor of those few mutants who had reached him and found a Chaplin of the foremost legion too much to oppose and survive. Then the storm had broken. The ground had turned to syrup and winds had driven the landspeeders cruelly to the ground where their crews had been overran by reinforcing mutants. Tanks had begun to throw tracks, forcing their passengers to dismount if they wanted to assist in the assault. As the darkness bloomed, the effectiveness of their fire power began to falter. By this time, the Dark Angels had reached the gates of camp, black and twisted, scarred with hideous dark runes. Johanous himself dismounted from his bike to plant the meltabombs that blew the gate off its hinges and into the mud of the street beyond. Seeing the narrow streets that branched away from the gate, he ordered the tanks and many of the marines to guard the entrance that they might fight their way free once they dealt with the Word Bearers. Johanous, on foot, and three dozen of his brethren moved into the camp. The sounds of massed bolter fire cutting down onrushing mutants faded as the omnipresent rain drowned out all visual details. "Infrared sensors on. We want to be able to see them before they rush us.", Johanous curtly ordered as he became aware of his force's vulnerability in these tight paths. As the marines flicked on the thermal scanners, they detected the silhouettes of chaos marines closing from all sides. Johanous shouted over his vox link, "Stand your ground, children of the Lion! Prepare for close quarter combat. We will purge these scum as the Primarch did ten millennia ago! We fight in the Emperor's name." "We fight in the Emperor's name.", came the solemn reply. Bolters and flamers roared to life as the ornate red armor of their opponents became clear in the gloom. A sudden stink of decay wafting through the storm caused darkness alerted the Interrogator-Chaplain to the arrival of plague bearers, foul daemons of Nurgle. He activated his crozious, the weapon's power field sending steam boiling from its surface. The rotting daemons blended so perfectly with the gloom that their forms were chiefly visible as distorted red shadows clutching blades of darkness. Johanous charged into their midst, his bolt pistol spitting death as he closed. Their cries of pain as he bludgeoned at their foul forms seemed to mock him. Battle fury took him as he struck out fiercely, ignoring the blows that rang off his armor. One blow cut and he felt a wave of sickness pass through his being. Shrugging off the effect he grabbed the rubbery arm and smashed its deformed skull with his crozious. He spun and faced the remaining trio of daemons, his skull mask gazing challengingly at the warp spawn abominations. They shuddered and vanished into the open air, fleeing to the safety of the warp. A nightmarish bellow echoing from massive speakers alerted Johanous to the next threat. Thunderous footfalls of a dreadnought came closer as the enraged death machine closed with the Dark Angels. He looked over his shoulder at his marines, engaged with their chaos counterparts. The dead of both sides were sunk half way into the mud as their brethren continued a conflict as old as the Imperium. Johanous glimpsed a white clad specter drop into the midst of his soliders, its wings a muted gold in the rain, wielding a massive multibarbed weapon like a club. The horror's eyes glowed yellow as it half screamed perverse litanies that provoked the Word Bearers to fight harder, their chainswords spiting blood and water. The dreadnought roared again, its cry like that of a mad man at prayer. Johanous shook with indecision: attempt to reach the white clad figure or engage the chaos dreadnought and draw it away from his men? He chose, "In the name of the eternal Emperor of Mankind, you shall proceed no further!" He charged at the massive machine as it was half turned allowing him to reach its vulnerable rear. Time slowed for Johanous as he swung at the rear of the dreadnought two handed. He struck four times, the ravenous power field cutting off the machine's power supply to its exposed leg servos as it turned around its twin power fists blazing sparks. Johanous dodged an overhand swing that blew a crater in the muddy ground. He blocked a swing from its second weapon with his crozious, the opposing power fields flaring with painful light. The feedback from his weapon stunned him and the razor barbs of the original weapon disemboweled him from below. His rosarius pulsed futilely as he was thrown yards from where he had stood before. The last things that passed through the chaplain's mind was the sight of the mad machine futilely attempting to move and the sound of a teleport boom echoing through the camp.  
Mikaihel looked up at the sound of the teleport reaction amid the remains of the butchered Dark Angels' squad he had attacked. The unique green armor and black robes of Cypher were faintly visible in the gloom as the Fallen's plasma pistol picked off another of the Dark Angels' warriors. Looming like pale giants in the mist, an explosive roar of assault cannons and stormbolters announced the arrival of the Deathwing. The hail of shots thundered into the body of the Fallen Dark Angel, most ricocheting away from his body, but a pair of oozing holes marked where his armor had been punctured by the explosive rounds. Cypher stood his ground, pumping pistol fire into the vengeful attackers. One terminator was punched from his feet as another slowly toppled, a small smoking hole in his helmet marking the entry point of the bolt pistol shell that killed him. The Dark Apostle leapt forward, his robes dripping mud as the Deathwing assaulted Cypher. Cypher continued to fire as he rolled under the swing of a massive black sword. He fired as he rolled one shot tearing through the wielder's leg as his bolt cartridges tumbled around him. He came out of the role as a bone white power fist arched toward his chest. The air suddenly rippled around him and the power fist arched into the ground, passing through his torso as though it wasn't there. Mikaihel didn't outwardly react to the impossible event as he called forth a pack of bloodletters to exterminate the loyalists. Cypher flickered and faded from view as Mikaihel completed his charge, the bloodletters right behind him. There was no sign of Cypher's presence as a new combat erupted between the terminators and their warpspawned foes under the stygian darkness of an endless storm.  
  
Legal Disclaimer: I don't own Warhammer 40k in any way, shape, or form. That honor belongs to Games Workshop and I'm not contesting that. I don't intend to make a profit from this and hope that this doesn't get me sued. Please.


	5. A Greater Foe

Chapter 5. If anyone cares, this chapter still doesn't flow from the last and legal disclaimer is at the end. Read, hopefully enjoy, and review if you see fit...

A Greater Foe  
  
The central chamber of the dark cathedral was nearly silent. A few Word Bearer acolytes moved about the room chanting catechisms and lighting censors in preparation for the coming rites. A blackened icon in the corner, twisted and marked with leering daemonic faces, began to pulsate with a baleful aura and a low moaning filled the room. The acolytes ceased their tasks and moved to investigate the source of the disturbance.  
By the time all twelve had gathered near the icon, it was wreathed in a pallid glow and filled the chamber with the gibbering cries of the warp. "Should we approach it?" voiced one acolyte fearfully. "No we should not." responded another, "This is an omen of chaos and is reserved for the ranks of the anointed." "True," replied a third, "but are we not among Lorgar's chosen and future bearers of his puissant geneseed? If it was meant for the battle brothers surely it wouldn't have manifested to us? I say it is a test for those who are worthy to master the lesser forces of the warp that the gods gift to our most worthy of legions!" The speaker broke from the cluster of acolytes and strode toward the icon.  
When the bold acolyte entered the light of the icon, the cathedral was engulfed by darkness and screams erupted from his throat. The remaining acolytes hurriedly brought lights to and saw the gruesome spectacle unfolding before their eyes. The bold one shed large amounts of flesh and ichor as his chest viscously flowed into the shape of a many gyred spiral black as pitch. His screams only stopping as his body went limp. The acolyte was dead. The acolytes approached the body of their comrade but were halted by a voice from the shadows.  
"Hold. Approach no closer and take the first position of reverence while I investigate." The acolytes fell to their knees as Mikaihel, Daemon Prince and Dark Apostle of the Word Bearers Traitor Legion, emerged into the light. The living fabric of his white robe rippling, he descended from the rafters. He towered over the acolytes even as he stooped to examine the symbol on the remnants of the acolytes' chest. All was quiet till the Dark Apostle spoke again after a few minutes reflection. "Future warriors of our blessed primarch, this is an omen that has not been seen for long ages." Mikaihel paused than continued, "The black spiral is a symbol of destructive change. Only revealed when an event of great magnitude is about to occur. You are to return to your cells until the time of this evening's rituals and focus on the deadly glories of chaos. Others will finish the needed preparations. Let this be a reminder of the dangers chaos can pose to one who is not granted the lore of a full Word Bearer." The acolytes got up and withdrew, leaving Mikaihel to reflect on this most portentous of omens and the bearing it might have on him and his Host's plans and battles.  
Mikaihel could feel the warp seething with energy as he directed his Host in its ambush on the imperial guard column. Opening fire on the flanks of the Leman Russes destroyed one and disabled the weapons of another. Chaos marines roared forward in their ornate rhinos as the stunned imperial guard began to respond to the Word Bearer assault. Several marines were killed as an imperial sentinel blew apart their rhino with a well aimed lascannon. Flickering lasbolts lashed out at the chaos warriors as the guardsmen formed up around a cloak clad figure bearing a baroque power weapon.  
Mikaihel noted this figure and smiled grimly as he thought to himself, "The inquisitor is their strength. His death shall break them." Aloud he cried, "The blessings of chaos upon he who brings me the inquisitors' head!" The command resonated across the battlefield and brought a hail of fire down on the squads protecting the venerable imperial warrior. A rhino squealed to a halt in front of the imperials and disgorged a squad of Word Bearers in preparation for the coming assault. Desperate fire from the beleaguered guardsmen punched several of the armored killers from their feet, but the rest stood their ground relishing the fear in their opponents' eyes.  
The chaos marines dashed forward led by their ornately armored champion as the flame thrower equipped marine sent a burst of flame past his fellows and scything through the ranks of guardsmen. The fight was swift and bloody, the fell warriors hacking their merely human foes apart in an orgy of bloodshed. The inquisitor led the counter attack and stepped forward into the fight his gleaming weapon decapitating a marine in a single blow. He turned to parry a roaring chainsword and calmly lashed out with his sword to cut down another foe. The chaos champion brought his powerfist to bear against the skilled adept. The first blow was parried, but the champion's sword knocked the inquisitor to the ground. As the chaos powerfist arched toward his head, the wounded inquisitor detonated the plasma grenades on his belt. An eruption of light bloomed and threw the surviving combatants yards in every direction. It was a moment of noise on a quieting battlefield as the Word Bearers subdued the surviving guardsmen and awaited the word of their Dark Apostle to begin after battle prayer. However, the Dark Apostle was still as he extended his senses into the warp and encountered a smothering darkness, a dark storm which was thickening with every moment. Mikaihel withdrew his warp sense and gave voice to a cry of challenge as a row of chimeras burst through the concealing foliage at the northern end of the clearing.  
Half the vehicles halted and silhouetted the warriors of chaos in hails of multilaser fire. A rampaging dreadnought, encrusted with the remains of its imperial foes, was damaged and then destroyed by concentrated bursts of laser energy. The northern most squad of chaos marines grudgingly gave ground before advancing tanks. Squads of storm troopers disembarked from their transports as a solitary heavily built figure moved off her transport and raised a pair of swords in a gesture of challenge. Mikaihel narrowed his eyes in thought as he gazed at the cloaked figure. Despite its nominally human form, he could see the almost space marine like musculature, and fearsome psychic presence. He saw the being in the warp as a black hole which drew in the power of the sea of souls around it. Here was the source of all his ill omens and he would treat this foe accordingly. All this occurred as the other half of his mind ordered the advance and directed retaliation.  
Chaos marines charged at their foes as long range fire support began to damage imperial vehicles. The elite storm troopers were more effective that the earlier ambushed guardsmen and succeeded at dealing with most of the charging marines at range. The result was clumps of determined imperials surrounding fearless handfuls of marines in protracted melees. Mikaihel managed to summon bloodletters from the warp to attack the imperial warp spawn as he swept into battle with the resurgent imperial force.  
"I call challenge!", screamed Beleth Sh'surack as she strode forward, black lightning arching from her blades to strike down an obliterator as it turned toward the dark clad figure. Beleth spun with a cry of glee as she sensed the daemonic minions of Knorne charging at her back. A bloodletter crumbled into a stinking pile of dust as she sent a bolt of power into its ebon form. The daemons closed with her rapidly, their gleaming axes raised high. Beleth struck and leapt again and again with an agility unnatural to so heavyset a figure. The daemons vanished into thin air where she struck, the swords she wielded flaring with each kill.  
Mikaihel descended into the fray from above, his rippling robes splayed behind him as he lashed out with his barbed Crozius at the embattled figure now fending off his summoned allies. Beleth blocked the strike and counter attacked, her blade reducing a bloodletter to dust before it was halted by a flaring web of light around the Dark Apostle's body. She screamed as she struck in a frenzied series of attacks which Mikaihel struggled to block, bleeding rifts in his form testament to the power of the blows. He dropped his defenses for a second allowing the twin swords to impale his torso as the imperial champion lunged at him with all her strength.  
The unnatural vitality of the warp kept him fighting as his coruscating robe engulfed Beleth's legs and brought her crashing to the ground. Mikaihel reared back into the air to draw the swords out of her grasp as he methodically bludgeoned at the figure with his weapon. Beleth blocked attack after attack with her increasingly mangled forearms as she fought to break loose of the living fabric entangling her. The determined defense saved her from the daemon prince, but she failed to deflect the blow from a gleaming axe wielded by the surviving bloodletter.  
The strike impacted with her skull and nearly chopped her head in twain. As soon as Beleth stilled a fountain of light erupted from her chest searing the daemonic pair clustered above her. The bloodletter flashed into vapor as Mikaihel struggled free of the burning light that tore at his form. As the light dwindled into the sky, he praised chaos for the victory and knelt as the damage his form had suffered forced him to his knees. "The beasts can be beaten and if such foes can fall, the False Emperor has no chance of victory." he whispered fiercely. A grim exaltation filled him as he saw that the battle still raged on despite the imperials' advantage of numbers.  
"Glory to Chaos! Fight onward and prove yourselves worthy of Lorgar's blessing!" exclaimed Mikaihel. This outburst drew the attention of a storm trooper squad to him. His blackened body with the twin swords protruding from its back like misshapen wings was incapable of battle. This prompted Mikaihel to release his grip on the material plane and withdraw to the warp even as vengeful storm troopers riddled his daemonic flesh with bullets and plasma bolts. His warriors fighting all the harder filled his vision as he slipped into the now brightly lit vistas of the warp.  
  
Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Warhammer 40k in any way, shape, or form. That honor belongs to Games Workshop and I'm not contesting that. I don't intend to make any money form this and just hope that tihs doesn't get me sued. Please...


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